Chamber Play
by naboru narluin
Summary: Blades gets taken prisoner by the Decepticons. But not all on the Nemesis is as he expected, and he ends up stuck with someone he could live without. / crack, dark, comedy, angst, attempted rape, violence, (more warnings with later chapters) / R
1. Chapter 1

**Title: ****Chamber Play**  
**Chapter:** 1/15  
**Continuity:** G1  
**Warnings:** crack, dark, comedy, angst  
**Characters:** Blades, Onslaught, Blast Off  
**Rating:** whole fic: R; this chapter PG  
**Summary:** Blades gets taken prisoner by the Decepticons. But not all on the Nemesis is as he expected, and he ends up stuck with someone he could live without.  
**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
**Beta:** ultharkitty

**Note:** I had that idea 2010 or something, and finally was able to write it. It's written for Onyx17 on LJ. :)

About the title: a chamber play is play of usually three acts which can be performed with a small cast and practically no sets or costumes in a small space.

* * *

Onslaught tugged on the chains attached to Blades' wrists, and almost caused him to stumble. Great. The last thing the Autobot wanted was to fall flat on his face when all the Decepticons were watching.

Not that many Decepticons were in the hallways of the Nemesis just then, but it was a matter of principle.

An annoyed huff puffed from Blades' vents, and Onslaught tilted his head slightly, his visor gleaming for an astrosecond. But the Combaticon leader kept quiet.

Wordlessly, he opened a door, signalling Blades to enter a dark room.

The Autobot's processor clocked fast, calculating potential escape plans, and the chance to get away at the moment Onslaught was distracted. But even though Blades was known to be reckless, he wasn't stupid enough to try any of this.

Instead, he reluctantly stepped in the room, and was surprised.

It seemed occupied. At the middle of the opposite wall was a berth, next to it a desk with a few datapads. A bit further down from it, at the wall next to the door, there was something resembling the sofa the Protectobots had in their rec-room.

"Get in!" Onslaught growled. And Blades winced, much to his dismay.

Having stepped in further and made room for Onslaught, the Decepticon closed and locked the door.

"Sit down there." Another growl when Onslaught pointed at the couch. This show of authority grated on Blades, and he'd love to have snapped something back. He resisted, knowing it was for the better, and sat down. He glared at the Combaticon, trying to hide his discomfort.

He was in private quarters, that much was obvious, with a Decepticon and a locked door. His jaw clenched as denta ground and his fingers flexed nervously - a habit he could never quite suppress.

Contrary to Blades' expectations, the Combaticon only touched him when he attached another chain to his feet. Then he fastened the chain to something at the corner of the wall, and activated the energon stream in it. It tickled on Blades' ankle, but the sensation faded soon.

"Don't pull too much on it, or you'll get shocked," Onslaught said on his way out.

The door slid shut, leaving Blades alone in the foreign, dark room. The glow of his optics and the brief flickers of energon of the restraint were the only light source. The gloomy atmosphere made him uncomfortable, and his mind wandered.

Pulling at the chain once, a surge of pain travelled up his leg. It was like spilled acid on his plating. Blades leant over the armrest of the couch, looking at the fastened chain. Little sparks of electricity rushed over the mechanism on the wall. It didn't appear as though it would be easy to loosen.

He sat up straight again, and waited, glancing around warily.

It didn't look like Soundwave's quarters. Blades doubted the weird Decepticon communications officer had a room with tools on the desk, and some device he hadn't seen before. There were also datapads on the night stand, and an empty energon cube.

Blades frowned, and hoped it wasn't Vortex' room. His rotors gave another twitch. Chained to the wall in a dark, the Protectobot couldn't imagine a worse place to meet the psycho 'copter.

The soft covering of the sofa rustled as he shifted slightly. The sound was noisy in the quiet room. At least the hum of the Nemesis' systems was familiar. If Blades offlined his optics, he could imagine he was in the Ark.

The door opened.

"Lights," a blank voice said, causing Blades' optics to switch on again.

It wasn't the Combaticon heliformer entering the room. It was the shuttle. A bulk of brown, purple and black metal, and all Blades knew about him was the frightening change between size of root and alt-mode and the destructive cannons.

He wasn't sure if he'd rather have been in Vortex' quarters.

The shuttle didn't seem to have noticed Blades yet. He went to the computer console to Blades' left, and turned it on, typing something on it before he deactivated it again. Then he sat down on the berth. The shuttle's hand was huge; he rubbed his neck as he glanced around.

Blades' systems stopped working for the fraction of the astrosecond when it was clear the shuttle saw him.

Like the heliformer, the Combaticon froze.

"Uh," Blades raised a hand, the chain on his wrist rattled. "Hi?"

The shuttle just stared. His parted visor looked as though it was about to pierce through Blades' head.

Without a word, the shuttle got abruptly up, and left the room.

"O_kay_," the Protectobot uttered, raising his optical ridges.

He shuffled back on the couch and leant against the backrest, pulling his feet up. The waiting grated on him, but at least there was light now.

The kliks ticked by, then the breems. Two and a half to be precise, before the door opened once more.

Heavy steps of the heavy mech entering made Blades' fuel pump stop for a moment. The purple visor was bright, but Blades couldn't see the optics beneath. Neither could he tell from the stance of the shuttle if he was angry. Only the engine revving to a low, deep rumble indicated that the mech wasn't pleased.

For the moment, Blades was glad he wasn't part of his gestalt.

"You won't touch anything," the Combaticon said. "You will not talk unless it's necessary, and you will remain on that couch. If you dare wander around, I'll weld you to the wall. Do you understand?"

Taken aback, Blades nodded.

The Combaticon huffed, and turned. Next to the berth, he tapped against a plate on the wall, and then pushed. It got loose, revealing cables, and a stack of energon cubes.

"Vector Sigma," he muttered almost unintelligibly.

It was obvious that something happened that Blades should be aware of. Only that he wasn't and he had no idea what was going on. Wasn't he going to be interrogated?

"So," he began carefully, "what happens now?"

"What did I tell you about the talking?"

Wow, Blades winced, the shuttle really was moody. "I, uh, I know, but seriously. Are you gonna torture me? It'd be nice to know, you know, to prepare myself mentally and stuff."

Even with the battle mask withdrawn, the other's bare face plates didn't give much away. Only his voice hinted at disgust. "Why do you think that? I'm not Vortex, for pit's sake."

"Uh, okay then." Blades shrugged. He fanned both his rotor blades up and pressed his back harder against the back of the couch. "What happens then?"

Another huff, a sound that so brief, but the most expressive mannerism of this mech so far. It almost sounded like an insult. "You stay there." He sipped from his drink. "And I stay here. Got that?"

"No, not really." What the frag was going on? The Protectobot felt like he was trapped in some weird human comedy movie. "Why am I here? Shouldn't I be in a brig or bleak, dark chamber, or something?" He actually would rather be there than chained at the wall in a Decepticon's quarters, let alone in a _Combaticon's_ quarters, for frag's sake.

"Yes, you should. But the brig is flooded."

It was spoken so blankly and in a matter of fact way, for a moment Blades didn't know if it was supposed to be a joke. But this mech didn't look as though he was fond of jokes.

"Flooded?"

"Yes. Do I need to repeat everything I say? Flooded. By salt water, if I need to clarify that. Because we're on the bottom of an ocean," the shuttle said, the voice dripping with condescension that Blades would have loved to snap something back.

"And… you don't have other rooms to lock me in than yours?" The Nemesis hadn't looked that small to Blades.

Now, the mech sighed. It sounded tired, exhausted even, but also annoyed. "There are. But you're our responsibility, since it was Brawl and Vortex who caught you."

Blades shuddered at the words. He did remember all too well.

"And now," the shuttle continued. "Megatron forbade us to use any other rooms but ours, because we knew the brig was unusable, and you and your gestalt destroyed our HQ. So we are forced to live in this sunken wreck until the repairs are done. If you see it like that, it's your own fault."

The mech seemed actually pretty angry about the destruction of their base, and that had to mean something if he didn't usually show anything much at all.

"Well, I didn't get myself captured on purpose," Blades countered.

"And I'm not the only reasonable mech in my team on purpose. So, since we both don't like the situation, let's pretend you're not there which includes you being quiet." The shuttle emptied his cube, and lay down. "Lights out."

The room became dark once again.

The heavy mech on the berth shifted a few times, then the silence crawled over Blades.

This was awkward, and ridiculous, and unbelievable, but mostly horrible. He missed his team, and now that he tried to reach out to them, he couldn't. They had put a device on him, under his plating, and it didn't only jam his communication equipment, but also dampened the gestalt bond.

Blades glanced next to him at the empty space on the sofa. He didn't feel like recharging.

He was lonely, and that with another mech in the room. Trying to recall whatever information he had on the Combaticon, Blades realised he didn't know much. Until now, the shuttle hadn't really mattered unless he charged his cannons, which hadn't happened often so far.

Maybe this was a trap, and they just expected him to fall asleep, only to catch him by surprise.

Blades' intakes started hitching, he couldn't stop them. He leaned his head on his knees.

He wouldn't recharge all night. He was determined.

His blue optics staring at the motionless shadow on the berth, Blades waited.

He didn't even know the shuttle's name.

* * *

Blades stirred.

Someone shook his shoulder, and an unfamiliar engine rumbled close to him.

His optics flickered twice before his systems calibrated the visual sensors and he saw dark plating. Legs, with a brown paintjob, his logic circuits reasoned, and it didn't match any mech he knew.

His battle programming activated. Optics sharpened; their input slowed as more pictures per astrosecond were processed. Blades' joints tensed, and he was about to reach for his gun. Mid-movement he stopped when he noticed the restraints around his wrists, and that was when his memory banks caught up with him.

He'd been captured, was held prisoner on the Nemesis, locked in the private quarters of a weapon of mass destruction.

Blades looked up, optics widened, and expecting the worst to happen, but the shuttle merely held out an energon cube.

His face was covered by his battle mask, and his posture gave nothing away of what he might think of Blades' reaction.

"You're going to take that now, or do I need to forcefully feed you?" The Combaticon's voice was flat, but unimpressed, almost displeased. "I rather prefer you choose option one, because I'm not keen on the latter."

With a brief nod, Blades took the cube out of the large hand, but didn't drink.

The shuttle huffed, and turned, going to the berthside table and rummaging through the datapads.

It gave Blades the time to assess his situation, but just like the night before, he couldn't make much sense of it. Least of all of the energon ration, the quarter cube that he held. Blades shifted into a more comfortable position. He'd slid half down the back rest when he'd gone into recharge. He'd tried to avoid it, but the exhaustion had claimed him eventually without his intent.

Eyeing the energon, then eyeing the Decepticon, Blades pondered on drinking. He needed to, but he was suspicious of the generosity. It could be poisoned, with additives in whose effect he could only guess.

He needed to find out if the energon was safe to drink, but he had no idea how.

Blades uttered the first thing that came to his mind. "Thank you."

The shuttle looked up. "Don't thank me," he said; Blades thought he almost sounded like a drone with his way of speaking. "I'm only following orders. I didn't give you the cube to stare at it."

"I'm just wondering why you give me energon in the first place. Or are _ordered_ to give me energon." Yes, Blades was almost proud of himself that he managed to subtly ask about the fuel, and that so shortly after waking up. "Do you treat all the prisoners like that?"

The shuttle shrugged. "Usually, the Decepticons avoid taking prisoners."

Blades tensed.

"But we're Combaticons," the shuttle continued. "And I don't know why Onslaught feeds you. Now drink, before I lose my patience."

That wasn't the answer Blades wanted. He sniffed, carefully, trying to smell if something was off. The fumes tickled his olfactory sensors, and made his tanks ache. Not as reluctantly as he should have, he sipped. The energon was just like at home.

It was gone in six gulps.

Leaning back, his feet still on the couch, Blades kept hold of the cube. He expected something to happen, like an effect that normal energon wouldn't cause, but two breems passed without anything changing.

Even the shuttle had barely moved in that time, only reading from a datapad while still sitting on the side of the berth.

It was quiet. Too quiet for Blades who wasn't used to sitting still for that long if First Aid wasn't in the room and snapped at him during repairs. Then at least he'd always been able to talk, to prod the gestalt bond, or make First Aid be startled or flustered.

Now, he could only sit there. Maybe he was supposed to do something and no one told him? The Autobots had never programmed any knowledge or taught them how to behave in captivity. Was Decepticon culture really that different?

"Uhm, you… there," Blades still didn't remember the shuttle's name. "Are you going to do something?"

Large intakes vented an annoyed huff. This time, the Combaticon didn't look up. "We had this topic just yesterday. No, I will not torture you, nor is my intent to beat you or harm you in any other way you're going to ask. And now be quiet."

"So, I'm not like your pet or something? And have to clean your room and such?" Blades wouldn't mind not having to clean anything. He didn't particularly like cleaning.

The shuttle raised his head. "Do you think my quarters are dirty?"

This was not the reaction Blades had anticipated. "I, well, no. But-"

"No buts-" Blades was interrupted, the other's flat voice morphing into a stern growl. "Just sit there. Be quiet. It's not my habit to utter idle threats. I have an arc-welder here, don't tempt me to use it."

Blades slumped. At least he didn't need to scrub the floor, but this didn't stop the ache of missing his team, and wanting to escape this awkward situation.

He wrapped his arms around his legs; his rotor blades bobbed now and then. He was unable to stop it. They always moved somehow when he felt unwell.

"I'm Blades," he tried again after another breem. "I don't know your name."

"Vector Sigma." The first reaction was an exaggerated, prolonged sigh. "Will you stay quiet if I tell you my name?" The shuttle glanced back at him over his shoulder, the visor gleaming in what probably was irritation.

"I will?" Blades wasn't sure he'd be able to keep quiet, but it was better to agree. Then he could at least stop thinking of the mech as only 'the shuttle'.

"Fine. I'm Blast Off. Don't expect any pleasantries like 'I'm happy to meet you', because I'm not."

The heliformer nodded once again, and thought to himself, neither am I.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: ****Chamber Play**  
**Chapter:** 2/15  
**Continuity:** G1  
**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
**Beta:** ultharkitty

_This Chapter_  
**Warnings:** crack, attempted rape, violence, dark, angst  
**Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Brawl, Swindle  
**Rating (Chapter):** PG-13  
**Summary:** Blades thinks his imprisonment is so very boring. Then something happens, and he'd rather be just bored again.

* * *

Time went by very slowly.

The first day was hardly bearable, and all Blades did was sit on the couch and think. Blast Off left the room a few times, once for several joors, but he hadn't talked to him again.

The next day, eventually after ages, Blast Off addressed him once again when he gave him a quarter cube of energon.

"Don't sit like that," he said, staring from above at Blades' slouched position. "You'll spill the energon all over my couch."

Blades puffed air from his vents in a prolonged huff. During the last cycle, his fear and caution had significantly decreased, and he slowly found his way back to his reckless self. "And if I won't sit straight, you're going to weld me on the wall?"

"Excuse me?"

The shuttle didn't sound like he hadn't understood Blades, but the heliformer pondered on repeating it only to annoy the other. He could barely stop himself, but his answer wasn't any less daring.

"I'm skilled like that. I can lazily sprawl over a couch and drink energon without spilling it. I can show you."

There never was a verbal reply.

Blast Off reached for his throat and pulled him up. Blades' cuffed hands came up to cling at his arm, but before he could do so, he was dropped back down again. His neck cables ached from the strain, even though it had been only for a fraction of an astrosecond. The change of position made Blades dizzy, and his optics flickered as Blast Off's hand pushed him against the back rest.

The shuttle had leant low. He was so close now. As Blades' visual input recovered, he could see the optics behind the visor glass.

"Watch what you're saying. Don't forget where you are," the shuttle growled. His engine revved, and Blades could feel the vibrations through the hand that held him in place.

He clenched his jaw.

"Drink." It was an order. Blast Off forced the cube into Blades' hand, and straightened up.

The short revival of Blades' recklessness died down, and his discomfort increased. His optics followed Blast Off going to the computer console, working on it, while he sipped the energon slowly. It didn't taste as good as yesterday, but it also could have been the sudden lack of appetite that made it taste bitter.

"You know," Blades carefully began, attempting not to sound as insecure as he suddenly felt. "It's pretty hard to remember where I am when I'm sitting on a couch and have to share a room with another mech during my imprisonment."

"We're not sharing a room," the shuttle responded without looking at him. "Your hands are in cuffs. You are shackled to the wall. You have a very limited radius of movement in a room deep beneath the sea with enemies in every floor and hallway of this vessel. If I were you, I wouldn't find it hard to remember where I am."

Blades' rotors wilted as he tried to keep sitting straight. "I just…" He wasn't really sure what to say. Yes, he did feel alone, he missed his team. He was even still scared. Deep down, he knew what kind of situation he was in. "I just never expected being held prisoner would be like _this_, you know." He hadn't expected to be ever a Decepticon prisoner at all, but he kept that to himself.

At that, the shuttle turned. The purple visor was fixed on Blades, and the stare made the heliformer shift on the sofa.

After a long while, Blast Off shook his head. He spoke up in a blank voice. "You should be glad it's just like this. There are other methods of imprisonment you most certainly don't want to experience."

Blades didn't know what he meant. It was probably better that way, but it did make the atmosphere more sinister.

He drank the last bit of the energon, and lay down, staring at the shuttle's black back.

It was difficult not to think about the other Protectobots.

* * *

Time morphed into an abstract concept within the room.

Blades couldn't recharge regularly. He stayed up for joors past his waking cycle, and even then he couldn't settle. There was nothing that needed to be defragged, and he didn't need to recover his resources with having moved hardly at all.

During the following waking and recharge cycles – Blades decided to call it that, because they lasted longer than day and night – Blast Off wasn't there most of the time. He came only to lie down on the berth. He never talked to Blades, never even looked at him. Even the energon cube was wordlessly handed over.

The next time Blades woke up, the cube was placed in front of the sofa, and the shuttle was gone.

He wondered what Blast Off did during the time, but he probably was better off not knowing. Maybe they were preparing another raid, another fight with the Autobots – with Blades' team – and he didn't want to imagine that. How would First Aid and Groove get out unharmed if Blades wasn't there, disobeying orders to take care his gestalt wouldn't get hurt?

Blades nudged the cube with his pede. The energon moved, but the cube was nowhere near so full as that it could have spilled over. Today it did look as if it was fuller than the last time. Did they raise his ration? And if so, why?

Staring at the cube for a while - or only a klik, it was hard to tell with no perception of time - Blades' mind was blank. Even the sound of the Nemesis' systems had become a static in the background that wasn't a distraction any more, and the heliformer found himself in apathy.

This had to be how furniture felt all the time. Only they couldn't move. Not that Blades could. He was forbidden, and he hadn't set a foot on the floor after the first day. He'd always kept them on the sofa, either sitting or lying.

He didn't want to be welded to the wall.

Blades glanced up at the berth.

But the shuttle wasn't there right now.

Cautiously, as though he expected Blast Off to open the door any moment, he stared at it. Some more kliks ticked by, and Blades wanted to get up. He really wanted to, he could stand again, would be able to stretch, and maybe take a look at that weird device on the desk that he always saw when he lay on his side.

Blades didn't stand up. As though subject to an invisible force that pushed him down, he remained on the couch.

"I can get up," Blades said to himself, quietly, because his own voice was like a scream in the quiet room. "He won't see me."

Blades repeated the words a few times. Like a mantra to ensure no one would enter. He moved in slow motion, carefully, and finally set a foot on the ground. His optics darted back to the door, but it didn't slide open.

Venting twice, Blades dared to get up.

His leg joints hurt. He was stiff, and he almost expected his hydraulic mechanisms to give in, or at least to creak unhealthily. They didn't.

It was as if with moving again, the ban was taken off of him. The apathy almost vanished completely, and Blades stretched and flicked his rotors up and down.

He sighed, relaxing for the first time in days. It seemed Blast Off wouldn't come back for yet another while. Time was overdue to test how wide Blades' radius of movement really was.

Measuring, Blades went to the closest edge of the berth. He was even able to sit down.

The berth was comfortable, but still felt odd. Blades frowned, stroking over the surface with his palm. It was made of a completely different material than the berths they had in the Protectobot base.

The 'copter shrugged it off, and stood up again. Glancing behind himself, he saw the berth altering, and the dented spot where he'd sat before smoothing out.

The furniture Blades knew didn't do that. He wasn't angry about it, since that way Blast Off wouldn't find out he'd sat down on his precious berth.

Keeping an optic closely on the chain, Blades dared look around further. He couldn't sit down at the desk, not right now, but if he moved the chair a little, it'd work. He could reach a few of the tools, and wasn't that tempting?

Once again Blades glanced at the door, then back at the tools.

Why didn't he dare get up earlier?

His own fear embarrassed him, and he was glad his team wouldn't feel it.

From the desk, he walked to the door, and the chain pulled taut. The acidic feeling travelled up from Blades' ankle, and he had to stretch his leg a little to get a bit closer to the door's lock. The small control panel next to it was covered by a metal plate, and a red light blinked in a slow pace.

If Blades tried, he could reach it. But it was useless, because the panel didn't open.

Someone outside spoke loudly, there was laughter, and heavy steps. Blades froze. He knew this was the exactly wrong reaction.

The steps became even louder, closer, and that was when Blades snapped out of it. He jumped back to the sofa, tugging the chain towards him so that it didn't lie where it shouldn't be.

More voices rose, there was a bellowed command, and slowly the noises ebbed.

"Frag…" Blades muttered, and buried his face in his hands. If every tiny sound made him nervous like that, he'd need a good plan to escape.

He was brave enough to get up once again to take close-up scans of the door panel and the tools; for the rest of his waking cycle, he analysed them.

Blades went to sleep before Blast Off came back.

* * *

Something touched Blades' shoulder.

In the first moment of barely being conscious, he thought it might be Blast Off again.

But the touch moved further down to his intakes and then let go.

Blades onlined his optics.

The room was still dark, and all he could make out were two shapes in front of him. More legs, too many legs for one person.

His head turned swiftly.

"Look, he's awake."

Blades didn't know whose voice it was, and it didn't matter. He went rigid as one of the shadows reached out to his rotors.

"Heh, that makes it more fun," someone answered, unnecessarily loud that it made Blades even more uncomfortable.

A pair of optics and a visor stared down at him, and for the moment, it seemed time came to a halt.

It was when Blades tried to sit up that it escalated.

Two strong hands pushed him down while something was pressed against his throat. A flash of light brightened the room for the fraction of an astrosecond in which a painful surge crept from Blades' throat through him. His visual input cut out, and when he wanted to scream in agony, he couldn't. Only static left his vocaliser, and his hands were caught as he tried to push the mech away.

It all was futile, and the bulkier statue sat down on the couch, on Blades' legs and lent over him. The orange visor was all the 'copter could see.

"You think Blast Off's had his fun with him already?"

Blades' ventilation picked up. He struggled.

He should have taken a tool, not just looked at them and taken pictures to analyse. He could have used them as a weapon, something to fight back.

But with his hands pinned, the bulk of metal on his legs immobilising him completely, they wouldn't have made a difference.

"Heh," the first voice replied. "He's a heliformer. What do you think?"

Blades wanted to spit something, or cry out in pain as the mech shifted and almost dented one of his rotors, but he only got a warning in his HUD.

His vocaliser was offline. Self-repair was already on it, though whatever they'd done had silenced him.

With a staticky crackle, Blades' optics widened. They touched him. Touched his interface panel, and it made his energy field flare with panic. Blades wanted out, needed to get away from them, but all he could do was lie there and not make it too easy for them.

Even Blades' whimper couldn't be produced, and the distorted sound made the intruders laugh.

The light switched on.

Everything stopped for a moment before it got even worse.

The enraged growl was only the beginning.

"Frag, Blast Off, listen," the mech on Blades' legs said. For a short moment, he saw it was a tank, another Combaticon, before the shuttle unleashed the pit on them.

Blast Off reached out for the small grounder next to the sofa. The metal squealed, the arm was dented. With a swift move, Blast Off smashed the mech into the computer console.

The tank didn't have time to get up.

A large hand enclosed his face, deformed the battle mask and causing the mech to scream. The sound morphed into a gargling whine as Blast Off smashed his head against the wall above the couch. With his legs still partly on Blades, the tank kicked out and hit the heliformer.

Eventually, Blades came to his senses and scrambled away, off the sofa and into the corner.

The tank tried to punch Blast Off, but the shuttle dodged and repeatedly crashed the back of the other's head against the wall. He then raised his fist, and from the angle Blades was watching, it looked as though he buried it deep within the tank's abdomen. Energon shimmered on the black hand and heat shield.

"What did I tell you about breaking into my room?" The growl wasn't loud, but it was so rich of anger, it was almost touchable.

Even crouched in the corner, Blades could sense the furious fluctuating energy field of the shuttle.

"But Vortex-" the smaller grounder began, and was immediately silenced.

It was brutal, and Blades wanted to be somewhere else.

Finally, after energon had spilled on the floor, and the intruders had stopped moving, Blast Off took them and left.

Blades pulled his legs close, and sobbed. He tried to regain his composure, but the hitching of intakes just didn't stop. Putting his forehead on his knees, he clutched his head, shaking it minutely.

It didn't make sense.

Why did they break in? Would they have had continued if Blades had been in a normal brig? Would they've come earlier? Why did Blast Off almost kill them? They were his team.

Blades was merely a stranger, prisoner, a nuisance in his room, and Blast Off didn't want him to be there.

He was the reason they broke in. And he saw him getting off the couch. Blast Off would weld him to the wall. The dented wall, damaged by the force Blast Off had smashed his team mate against it.

Blades shivered, and his rotors twitched.

When the door opened again, it was like reflex that he got back on the sofa.

Blast Off entered. Blades was the first thing he looked at, and the heliformer went stiff.

Their optics met.

It was that instant that Blades dawned that he couldn't explain himself. His vocaliser produced static.

The shuttle didn't even huff.

All he did was go to his desk and sit down.

It wasn't what Blades had expected, but maybe he'd turn on him later. When he was in recharge, like the others had done.

The heliformer sat there. Now and then his intakes still hitched, but Blast Off didn't look at him.

Not like Blades, who stared at the shuttle, taking in every little movement as he worked on the device on the table. Energon was still in the joints of the hands. It was also still on the floor.

Sometimes Blades' optics dropped to the large cannons on the shuttle's feet, expected them to realign and point at him, expected them to start humming and building the bright glow of laser fire.

But Blast Off didn't activate them. He didn't talk to Blades, blame him, or acknowledged his presence in any way.

Blades was sick. He tried to suppress trembling as well as he could, but it increased again as he sought the presence of his team within the realm of their gestalt.

He just met a wall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Camber Play  
**Chapter:** 3/15  
**Continuity:** G1  
**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
**Beta:** **ultharkitty**

_This Chapter_  
**Warnings:** crack, some angst, twisted fluff  
**Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Scavenger  
**Rating (Chapter):** PG  
**Summary:** Blades meets Scavenger, and gets something to fight his boredom.

* * *

Blades didn't recharge.

Blast Off had gone to sleep hours ago, and would probably get up soon, but Blades forced himself to stay awake. He didn't want to be surprised again.

When the shuttle did get up, he left for a moment, came back, and gave Blades the energon cube like every day. Then he vanished once more.

With Blast Off gone, Blades felt even worse. What if his team mates came back for him? Or other Decepticons thought it would be entertaining to visit the only Autobot on the Nemesis. Blades was not just scared, but also tired. He wouldn't have the strength to fight back, even less than he had before.

Looking at the door for a moment, Blades decided to do what he'd missed the previous day. He got up quickly, hurried to the desk and grabbed the biggest screwdriver within reach.

He was back on the couch as quickly as he'd stood up, and waited. There was nothing else he could do.

He would recharge when Blast Off was back. During that time hopefully no one would dare enter the shuttle's quarters.

After his outburst, Blast Off hadn't done anything. Hadn't looked at him like he was just waiting for Blades to settle down. He hadn't looked at Blades at all.

Blades scolded himself for having been so afraid of the shuttle. Blast Off had had enough opportunities to force himself on Blades, and considering the mech's strength, he definitely didn't need to wait for Blades to be unconscious.

In fact, Blades realised, he was safer with the shuttle.

With a sigh, he settled back, and turned the tool in his hands. There were several things he could do with it, and his optics shifted to the chain at his ankles.

As before everything he did, once again Blades first looked at the door. After making sure no one would come in, hearing no steps from outside or voices in the hallway, he started working on the mechanism.

It wasn't like anything he'd seen before, but Blades tried his best. And failed.

The shock travelled not only from his ankle up his leg, but also nearly caused his hands to become numb. At first there was the burning pain, and then, as though the sensor nodes had given in, Blades couldn't feel his lower arms any more.

At that exact moment, when Blades lost his grip on the tool and it had rolled to the backrest, the door slid open.

He tensed.

The mech that entered was smaller than the shuttle, and the paintjob brighter. Purple and green, and a shovel hung down his back.

He hummed a tune that was familiar, and he had a large box under his arm.

Blades was ready to jump up, and almost did when the mech saw him.

"Oh, hi," he sounded perplex. The surprise made Blades wary, but his instinct to flee faded a little.

"Right, you're the Autobot. Wow, I didn't expect that," the mech said, and Blades finally identified him as one of the Constructicons, the excavator. "I kinda thought it was a joke, but wow."

He really did seem surprised, and Blades was confused. He could only stare.

"Uh," the Constructicon began anew. He followed the chain with his optics to where it vanished beneath the couch. "I didn't mean you are a joke. But there's a rumour going around about a Protectobot being held in some room. I didn't really listen. I hardly ever pay attention to the gossip on the ship so… uh, yeah. Anyway. I'm here for work." He pointed at the console behind him. "That one needs repairs but I guess you already know that."

He gave a nod, and turned to the console. Within a few kliks, tools were spread on the floor, and the mech took care of the device, still humming that tune.

It took Blades a while until he recognised it, and when he did, he couldn't stop himself from blurting out.

"It's MASH, isn't it?" Blades' voice was still staticky, his vocaliser not fully repaired, but it caused the mech to look up.

"I, uh," the Constructicon began, his optics flickered once. "I picked the tune up a while back when I… uh-"

"I like the show." Blades decided to interrupt the stammering. He couldn't quite understand why someone would be embarrassed watching human TV, but this was probably a Decepticon thing.

"Oh," the mech uttered in surprise. "Well, nice. I try to catch up on it whenever I can. Work's keeping us busy, and now with the Combaticon base being rebuild and all the battles." The purple visor flickered again. "I… probably shouldn't talk to you."

The mech turned back to the console, and continued the repairs.

Desperation boiled inside Blades. He finally had someone to talk to, and it didn't matter that it was a Decepticon.

"What episode are you on?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. "I mean, we can talk about MASH, right? You don't have to tell me about your work. Just… talking is nice." The staticky screeches made the nervousness in his voice less detectable, though the Constructicon still picked it up.

"I'm at episode 218." The Constructicon changed tools, and the sound of a drill was loud in the room. When the noise ebbed, he added. "Blast Off doesn't talk about things like that, does he?"

Blades shook his head even though the other couldn't see him.

"I think," the Constructicon pondered as he worked on the computer, "he doesn't like talking. At least I can't remember if I ever talked to him. Actually," he stopped for the time it took for tools to clatter in his box as he rummaged around, "I think he doesn't like people."

Blades vented air. His legs on the couch, and chin on his knees, he hid the screwdriver with his body. "But he's part of a gestalt, right?" It was just hardly understandable that someone who shared a bond with others could beat them up like that.

"Well, yes, he is, but-" the Constructicon shrugged. The shovel twitched twice. "They're difficult, to say the least."

The conversation ebbed.

Blades had no idea what he could answer to that, and so he tried to remember what happened in episode 218 of MASH. That way he might be able to change the topic. It was nice to talk to someone again.

Before Blades found the right memory file, the Constructicon straightened up and gathered his tools.

He turned. The battle mask hid the face, but his voice sounded as though he was smiling when he said, "I can turn a TV channel on if you like? Then it won't be so boring."

Blades perked up. "Oh. Oh, yes, please!"

The Decepticon nodded. He typed something into the key board, and went to the door. Stopping once, it appeared as if he'd wanted to say something else, but he kept quiet. Blades watched the mech leave.

* * *

Blades knew the channel. It was the one where episodes of MASH aired every weekday. It had to be early afternoon, because right now the human cartoons were shown like every day before the more exciting shows.

The colours and heroic screams and weird flickers made Blades dizzy. He didn't drift into recharge, but he dimmed his optics and only half listened to what was going on.

Over the noise of a man riding a tiger, Blades missed the ping sound that always came shortly before the door opened.

When the light from the hallway shone into the room and a shadow grew on the floor, Blades' intakes hitched. He tensed, optics widened, and he reached next to him for the screwdriver. He held it so tight, the joints on his fingers almost creaked.

The dark figure that stepped in was familiar. And Blades relaxed. Only to freeze again when Blast Off turned to the TV.

The door closed.

Without any comment, the shuttle switched the TV off, and then looked at Blades.

"The repair person turned it on," Blades explained, not even knowing if Blast Off wanted to hear it. It was the moment he became aware that the purple visor wasn't fixed on him, but on the screwdriver that Blades still squeezed tight.

The screwdriver that Blades got from the desk when he was walking around, which he wasn't allowed to do.

Blades' rotors quivered, and he shuffled back until his back hit the armrest. He expected an angry growl of that strong shuttle engine, or an annoyed huff. Maybe he'd be punched just like Blast Off had punched his team mates. Maybe the shuttle would weld him to the wall, wordlessly, and enjoying it that he finally had a reason to immobilise Blades.

Blast Off came closer, and the quivering of Blades' rotors became an anxious twitching.

Blades clung to the tool like to a lifeline.

He needed to explain that it was only for self-defence, but the words were stuck in his throat.

Blast Off held out his hand to Blades, staring at him.

It seemed like a whole joor passed before Blades dared move. He relaxed enough to stretch out his arm but came the other's hand only slowly closer. Reluctantly, Blades put the screwdriver into the shuttle's palm.

The tool looked so small in Blast Off's hand.

Neither of them spoke. Blast Off put the screwdriver back on the desk, and lay down.

Blades kept looking at the mech for a while, sincerely wondering what had just happened.

Huddled in the corner where the back and the armrest met, he eventually fell asleep.

* * *

Blades woke up the next morning with a numb arm. He'd laid weirdly on it, and the energon flow had been disrupted. He shook it out as well as he could, then glanced around in the search for Blast Off.

Like the day before the shuttle was gone. The energon cube was on the floor, and next to it... Blades rebooted his optics. Next to the energon, in reach if he leant off the couch, there was the screwdriver.

Blades took it both. Today, he wasn't scared.

* * *

Joors passed in which nothing happened. No one entered the room, and Blades was partly relieved, and partly disappointed.

He became bored.

He'd tried to get rid of the cuffs again, but only got shocked, and so he gave up after a while.

When Blades had to dismiss escaping as an activity, he started to push the screwdriver's handle on the flat covering of the couch. He counted the astroseconds it took to smooth itself out again, and attempted it with various intensities of pressure.

After that wasn't entertaining any more, Blades tried to draw patterns or figures on the flat surface, making it a challenge to finish them before the first line had vanished. He didn't realise how much time he'd spent on this, and only became aware of it when the door opened.

He checked his chronometer.

Blast Off had been away for 9.84 joors.

Blades sat up straight, giving the screwdriver back when Blast Off stood next to him and held out his hand.

"You're not watching TV," the shuttle said, sitting down at the desk and put the tool to use on the device on there.

"Uh," Blades wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. "No? I can't."

Blast Off looked up at Blades, and glanced at the computer. "Did Scavenger not give you access to the lower functions of the console?"

Blades shook his head. "He only turned it on."

With a sigh that Blades wasn't sure if was annoyed or tired the shuttle got up. His energy field was drawn close as he passed Blades, rounding the berth to the way to the console.

"Ping it. It needs your frequency."

Blades sat up on his knees, eyeing the shuttle with suspicion. "And then what? What do you need it for?"

Blast Off tipped his head to a side. "If you want to watch TV, ping it. I don't need it for anything. I don't care about your frequency. If I needed it, I'd ask Soundwave to extract it."

That made a lot of creepy sense, and Blades hoped the communications officer wouldn't poke inside his head. He nodded briefly, and hesitatingly pinged the console.

The screen flickered, and text scrolled down that Blades couldn't read. Blast Off blocked the console with his massive frame. From this angle, it looked as though the shuttle was typing.

Blades waited, and finally after a moment that took way too long for his tastes, the console pinged back.

"There," Blast Off said and went back to his desk. "You can change channels now. Just mute it and have the sound sent to you directly. I'm not keen on enduring these primitively annoying programs."

Blades grinned. "Sure thing." If he was lucky, he'd catch the rerun of today's MASH episode. He could indeed change the program, and couldn't help but be grateful. Finally he'd have something to do, and some noises other than his own and the ship's systems.

"Thank you," Blades said honestly.

Blast Off's visor brightened for the fraction of an astrosecond – maybe in surprise.

"Hm," he uttered gruffly. "That way you'll hopefully stop staring at me all the time."

The heliformer resisted snapping a sassy remark, and merely kept grinning. He didn't let it falter even though he did wonder if he'd really stared at the shuttle that often.

MASH began airing, and Blades shrugged his thoughts off.

Both mechs remained quiet. Blades enjoyed watching TV and the company. It was almost like with his team.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Camber Play  
**Chapter:** 4/15  
**Continuity:** G1  
**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
**Beta:** ultharkitty

_This Chapter_  
**Warnings:** crack, some angst, non-graphic smut of the p'n'p kind, comedy, general Blast Off-grumpiness  
**Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Vortex, Octane  
**Rating (Chapter):** PG-13  
**Summary:** Blades almost sees his team again, and Blast Off gets two visitors.

* * *

It had been a while since Blades had lost track of how long he had been on the Nemesis. It had to have been longer than two weeks already before he had been allowed to watch TV.

The human programs helped to pass the time, and it was easier to name the days now. Blades counted them using MASH episodes. Sometimes he watched them twice, just because nothing else aired that was worth spending time on - and maybe also because he wanted Blast Off to look at the TV.

So far, the shuttle hadn't asked what Blades was watching. He didn't seem interested at all in the console unless he had to use it.

Blades was a little disappointed.

Although he had entertainment now, and something that made him feel less alone, he'd have liked to talk to the shuttle. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried, but all Blades got in return were one word answers or huffs, followed by the demand to be quiet.

The daily routine had become a sort of ritual. Blast Off would leave after giving Blades the energon and the screwdriver, and when the shuttle had gone, Blades would turn on the TV.

When Blast Off came back, he would wordlessly glance at the console, then at Blades, who gave the tool back voluntarily.

No other mech had entered the room, and Blades had only gotten off the couch once to clean the dried energon from the fight that had been still on the floor. He'd used one of the many cloths on the desk, but when Blast Off had come back, he hadn't said anything.

Things changed the day when the cartoons Blades still didn't like to watch were interrupted by a newsfeed.

The Decepticons had attacked a nuclear power plant, apparently trying to cause a meltdown to use the immense power output to turn into energon.

Blades raised his optical ridges.

This was just stupid. Why did they always try to get energy by destroying power plants? If they stole the energy more subtly for a longer duration of time, they would get far more energon, and it would save them the battle.

Blades shook his head, and watched. It was a long dawned-out fight, and the focus was on where the human reporters were still allowed to be. They showed the evacuation of the nearby human city, and Blades perked up. His team would be somewhere. Maybe First Aid was near the main battle, but Hot Spot could be in the urban area.

Edging closer to the arm rest, Blades' optics flicked over the screen, searching for his fellow Protectobots. He reached out through the bond, but he was still isolated. Nothing came through. It hurt.

The realisation how much he missed his team hit hard. The TV had been a distraction, the acceptance of being held prisoner deep down on the ocean had numbed his urge to use the bond, but now it was back.

Blades wanted to sooth First Aid, to show him he did good, and that his work mattered. He wanted to apologise to Hot Spot for disobeying orders, showing his good intent in doing so. He wanted to help Groove helping the civilian humans and show he admired his determination to keep the aliens safe even in the middle of the battle. And he wanted to argue with Streetwise, with them both knowing that they didn't really mean it, and Blades being sorry, not being obnoxious on purpose when he dismissed the tactician's ideas.

Blades slumped, his rotors wilted. He missed his team so much, he had to suppress his intakes hitching.

For hours Blades followed the news of the battle, always looking for one of his team mates on screen.

He didn't hear the door opening due to the sound in his head. The corridor had to be dark, too, because there was no light coming in this time. There was only Blast Off's dark figure that blocked the screen as he entered.

Blades sat up straight, trying to cover up the depression that had hit him earlier.

Blast Off's engine revved to a dangerous growl that was even louder than the TV. Blades muted it completely.

"Turn that off!" the shuttle spat, the visor glowing bright.

They repeated footage of the battlefield.

"But I have it muted, it-"

"_Turn it off!_"

Blades tensed, and sent the command to the console. The screen went dark.

That evening, Blast Off didn't take the tool from Blades. He just went to the other side of the berth, and poked the wall. Like the first evening, and on a very few other days, Blast Off took out a cube.

The light was dim, but Blades still could see the scorched metal on the shuttle's side. There was no energon, but a freshly welded line on his upper arm, and some bits of white shimmered through the usually black heat shields on the lower arms.

Till then, it hadn't really occurred to Blades that Blast Off had probably been there, too.

He didn't know how to react. Should he say something? Should he give the tool back of his own?

With the mood the shuttle was in now, it was perhaps safer if Blades kept the screwdriver.

He watched the shuttle closely, tried to make out anything new, changes, things that the shuttle hadn't done before.

There was the faint clicking of ailerons that sometimes happened, Blades guessed when he was annoyed or confused. Like that one time when the device on the table had almost broken apart, or when Blast Of had first seen him with the screwdriver. There was the deep ventilation, and measured movements that indicated he was focused on something, sometimes staying calm. And there was the shifting of the dark panels on his back.

Blades had yet to figure out what that meant.

He watched Blast Off clean and polish his side, doing something to the heat shield on his arms that Blades didn't understand.

There was not a single word from Blast Off, and Blades didn't try to converse, either.

Right then, Blades didn't just miss his team, but also felt unwelcome. Just like in the first few days.

Blades waited for Blast Off to settle first.

It was still hard to go to recharge.

* * *

Blades wasn't sure what woke him up. It was either the static in the air that tingled on his rotor blades, or the muffled sliding of metal and whispering from the other side of the room.

It took him a few moments to reboot properly, but he was still dizzy as he turned his head enough to look over his shoulder. He shuffled a rotor down, and frowned.

It wasn't Blast Off on the berth.

At least not alone.

A few more astroseconds ticked by before Blades' optical sensors adjusted enough to make out what was happening.

He froze for the slightest of moments, and then hastily turned again, staring at the backrest of the sofa.

But the image had burned itself into his processor.

The image of Blast Off leaning over Vortex, pinning the heliformer's hands above his head. Vortex arching up, rotors visibly shuddering and energy fields creating that blue glow when they'd mingled and were charged during interface.

Blades heard the scraping of metal against metal, the buzz of fields and cables and the faint, suppressed moans of two mechs.

"Oh frag," Vortex gasped, louder than before, and the charge pooled in the room.

It smelled of heated metal, warm oil and energon. A mix that prickled in Blades' olfactory sensors, a mix that added to the tingle behind Blades' interface cover.

"Be quiet," Blast Off growled, metal squealed and the strong engine revved.

Two vocalisers uttered whispers under static.

Blades was glad that he lay on his interface panel. At least it wasn't exposed directly to the charged air. It was maddening enough with his rotors twitching, taking in the heat and sending all the wrong signals to all the wrong places.

Even without seeing them, his imagination caught up on Blades when metal created scraping sounds, sliding noises, and Vortex' scream was stifled. Maybe by Blast Off's lips, or one of the large hands covering the mouth.

Blast Off's engine rumbled again, mingled with the growl of a charged vocaliser that was all but possessive.

Blades knew he should deactivate his audial sensors. He was awkward, and his frame heated under the impact of the atmosphere around him. It was like having his gestalt bond wide open when two of his team interfaced – only the heat came from the outside, and there was no way of shutting it down.

And even though Blast Off repeatedly tried to stop them, Vortex' noises became louder, more desperate as he neared overload. It was then that Blades turned his audials off.

The static in the air was still intense, and suddenly peaked. It was unbearable for that moment, and Blades was close to reaching for his rotors, giving them some friction and relief.

He forced himself to be still, lying motionless and riding out the charge around and inside him. It'd take joors, he knew, but there was no way he'd give in to that urge.

His rotor blades kept twitching in arousal even after he went back to recharge.

* * *

Blades woke up late and exhausted. He felt like he could go back to recharge again the instant he onlined his optics. His lines were sore from charge that hadn't been released, and his rotors still tingled with an underlying ache.

With a groan, he heaved himself up, and sat up straight.

"You still have my screwdriver. I need it," was Blast Off's greeting.

"Yeah, good morning to you, too." Blades wasn't in the mood to hold back. He knew he should keep quiet, but today he didn't feel like being the nice quiet prisoner.

"It's afternoon already."

"Huh?" Blades frowned. Shocked, confused, and annoyed at Blast Off's questionable ability to throw him off like that, he covered his expression by rubbing a hand over his face.

"The screwdriver," Blast Off repeated, and got up.

Blades ignored the energon cube on the floor for now. "What? Is that some kind of hidden threat because I haven't given it back to you yet?"

The shuttle stood in front of him, casting a shadow over Blades as he blocked the ceiling light. Blades did his best not to raise his head. He didn't want to look the other in the optics, the memory from the previous night still too present.

"No," Blast Off said flatly. "I need this screwdriver for the repairs, and I'd prefer not to look for it on you by myself."

Blades preferred that, too. He didn't want Blast Off to touch him, not with those hands that had touched Vortex like that. He shook his rotors out and reached behind him. He handed it over with a huff.

Blast Off nodded, and went back to the desk.

"What's that anyway? That thing there?" Blades asked as he reached down and got his ration. It was more than the last few days. It looked like the Decepticons had stolen some energy despite being unable to blow up the power plant.

"It's a 3D-projector."

"And it does what?" Blades sipped, leaning back and looking at the shuttle.

Blast Off exhaled air loudly, probably on purpose. "It projects in 3D, as in holograms."

"Oh, okay." It wasn't that Blades couldn't understand what it was for, he just wasn't sure what needed to be projected as a 3D hologram. "Why is it broken?"

"Because it was dormant for over 50 thousand vorns."

Blades wasn't used to Cybertronian units of time even if he knew them. It was just that he lived on Earth, was built here, and never needed them. He did the maths. His optics widened.

"Wow, that's a long time."

Blast Of shrugged. "It is."

The silence that fell over them was calm, but Blades didn't like it. He couldn't remember when Blast Off had ever said that much to him before, and maybe he could keep the conversation going.

"What do you need it for?" he tried.

"Why do you care?" Blast Off put his tool down, and looked up. "Don't you have any human shows to watch. I want to work here."

"It's Saturday afternoon, there's only bullshit on. So, what do you need it for?"

Blast Off's ailerons clicked. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, and every answer he could have given was interrupted by the door lock pinging.

Blades and Blast Off looked at it simultaneously.

It rang a second time, and with a growl, Blast Off stood up once more.

When the door slid aside, Blades couldn't see who it was, but he heard the other mech's voice.

"Hey, Blast Off. How're things going, old buddy."

"I'm not your _buddy_. What do you want, Octane?"

Blades was kinda amazed and relieved that Blast Off apparently spoke to his fellow Decepticons like he spoke to Blades.

"Heh, whatever you say, Blast Off. I was just wondering if you could lend me some creds. You know, me and Swindle have this deal with these humans-"

"No."

"Wow, dude, let me finish, okay?" Octane said in defence.

"Not okay," Blast Off replied, voice losing the flat edge as a stern undertone entered. "I doubt that Swindle would agree to you asking me for credits."

"Why not?"

"Because I beat him into medbay not that long ago. I highly doubt he'd dare aggravate me that shortly after."

Blades tensed at the memory of that incident, and drew his legs close.

"Well, okay, okay. It's not for Swindle and me. It's just for me. But you're an alpha, I bet you still have lots of creds somewhere. And not to mention the interest you've accrued while being in the box-"

"Enough," Blast Off interrupted the mech a second time.

"Okay, got it. No money from you," the shadow from the mech that cast into the room moved. "But I heard you have that Autobot there. Can I see him?"

Before Blast Off could answer, a head appeared in the door. "Hey there."

Blast Off blocked the way so that the mech couldn't get in further. "Leave."

"But he's a cutie, isn't he? You okay if I borrow him for a while? I mean if you get sick of him or Vortex gets all fragged of with you having another-"

"I said _leave_." Blast Off's cannons realigned and started humming. It was the first time Blades had heard the sound.

Blast Off pushed the button on the control panel, and the door slid shut.

"Aren't you cranky toda- Hey!" Just in time Octane was able to pull his head out. From outside, the muffled voice said something, but Blades couldn't understand it.

Blast Off typed on the control panel near the mechanism, and the light turned red again. He grumbled a curse, and sat down.

Almost two kliks passed before Blades' curiosity got the better of him. "What's an alpha?"

"I am not certain if you mean to annoy me or are serious with that question," the shuttle replied with a huff.

"I'm serious. They call Mirage an alpha sometimes, but I don't really get what that means. It has something to do with towers, doesn't it?"

Blast Off looked at him as though he measured if Blades was making fun of him.

"I was built on Earth," Blades tried to clarify.

Blast Off nodded the tiniest nod. "I see," he turned to his device again. "When your Autobot friends fail to educate their new builds well, it seems they have to get the knowledge from the enemy."

Hearing the condescending tone, Blades was close to spitting something very vulgar, but he resisted.

"Back on Cybertron, in the Golden Age, we had the caste system. Alpha is just a very bad human translation of-" Blast Off said a word in Cybertronian that Blades had never heard before. The language was unfamiliar in his audials, even though it was the language of his race. Blast Off continued while applying the tools to the 3D-projector. "It just described the highest caste, which was divided into several others. A Towermech is from Iacon, called that because they lived in the luxury towers near the political centre. I'm a shuttle," he shrugged. "Shuttleformers were always alpha from the day they were built. Even the shuttle working in the lowest departments was considered worth more than any of a lower caste."

"So Skyfire is an alpha, too?" Blades asked, and wondered. No one had ever had called the Autobot shuttle that, or had treated him different. Not how they sometimes did with Mirage.

"If he's a shuttle, he is alpha. Do I need to repeat my explanation?"

Wow, Blades thought, the shuttle really was grumpy. But he was also more talkative than he had been. The heliformer shifted a little on the berth, shuffling his rotors down.

"No, I'm good. So, you had like servants and stuff all the time?"

Blast Off vented air deeply. "No. I worked in science, and was glad when I could leave the planet and didn't have to deal with people. Is that everything?"

Blades tipped his head to a side. "What's 'the box'?"

Blast Off froze.

Blades hadn't expected that reaction, and he'd never seen Blast Off like that. It looked as though every joint, every wire was stiff. He'd stopped mid movement, the tool not touching the projector, it hung in the air.

When he started moving again, it seemed different, but Blades couldn't make out what had changed. He waited, but there was never an answer.

They were quiet for the rest of the day.


End file.
